To Have & To Hold
by Bressa W
Summary: sequel to the captain & the white lady. fluffy. eowyn and faramir start their life together and their family. r&r.
1. 1 Deep Sleep

_Disclaimer: Mr. John Ronald Reuel Tolkien created and owns the rights to these characters, with the exception of the unborn child, who belongs to me._

_Author's Note: Rana Ninque asked for it, and now all the readers of this fic's predecessor, "The Captain & The White Lady," have it. This is the sequel to the aforementioned fic, and I hope it does it justice. It is considerably fluffier, but it's only because, like the prequel, it's in Faramir's POV, and he's feeling very fluffy. You'll soon see why. Sorry the first chapter's so short, but I feel it does all it needs to do to set up the story. R&R!_

**To Have & To Hold**

**By Bressa W.**

**Chapter One**

**Deep Sleep**

Éowyn twitched in her sleep. She rolled on her side and mumbled something. She blinked. Then she snored slightly, and sighed.

Faramir couldn't sleep. He was watching her sleep, and he reveled in her every move. His eyes lingered on her peaceful, resting face, on the outline of her body under the white sheets, and especially on the swell in her stomach that was their unborn child. He smiled, remembering the very night that the beautiful baby, still in the womb, had been conceived. It was on the first night of their marriage, when she'd come to him, wearing only a silken white robe. He'd been pleasantly surprised, and a little apprehensive, even with his wife, because they had saved themselves for this night, they had waited, and it had been worth it.

He remembered the day that she'd told him of the pregnancy, too. She'd left early, telling him that she was going to the market for some zucchini. He'd told her that there was no need, that Ioreth would gladly go and fetch anything she needed. She'd insisted, and it turned out that she came home, not with zucchini or any other vegetable, but with the best news Faramir had received since Denethor passed. That had been four months ago, and already he could see the pleasant lump that signified that the baby was, indeed, growing, and growing fast. He'd never before experienced the mood swings or the cravings of pregnancy, the extra help she needed that he was all too glad to give. Never had he loved anyone more. Never had he been happier.

It was on this happy and exhilarating note that he drifted into a deep sleep, in which he dreamed of Éowyn and the baby that soon would be the start of their life as a family.


	2. 2 Rituals

_Disclaimer: Same as Chapter One._

_Author's Note: My muses struck me at one o'clock in the morning to write this chapter, so I hope that the lost sleep was worth it, but I'll let you be the judge of that. As before, R&R._

**Chapter Two**

**Rituals**

The following morning, Faramir awoke refreshed, ready for the day. He shrugged into a tunic and leather vest, pulled on his leggings and laced his boots. He'd awoken way before Éowyn, so he set about preparing breakfast for the two of them. The staff usually arrived around noon, just in time to prepare the luncheon meal. The only staff that lived in the great house of the Prince of Ithilien was Ioreth, who had resigned her position in the Houses of Healing when Faramir and Éowyn had left Minas Tirith, in order to serve Faramir, whom she admired more than all Men, save Aragorn. She knew she could sleep in every day. Faramir loved to fry eggs and bacon and eat toast he'd toasted himself. It made him feel like he could better relate to the people he ruled over in his princedom. Éowyn understood, she herself loved to shop among the serfs, but she had neither Faramir's enthusiasm nor his talent for cooking. They'd both learned that lesson the hard way.

Faramir shuddered at the memory of the first meal they'd eaten as a married couple. Éowyn had slid a bowl of something on his placemat. It looked like a solvent for a wound, and smelled like one, too.

He'd resisted the urge to ask, "What is it?" and said instead, "Thank you, Éowyn. I could use a hot bowl of…"

"Stew," she finished proudly. "Try it."

He'd taken a spoonful of the thick broth and lifted something unusually lumpy out of the bowl. To this day, he felt the bravest thing he'd ever done was finish that bowl of stew. And to this day, he still had no idea what kind of stew it was.

He looked up from the fire and jumped when he saw Éowyn standing in the doorway. She was wearing the same robe she'd worn on their wedding night, only much more conservatively. Faramir smiled at her and beckoned her to his side, putting his arm around her and drawing her near him. "You've been standing there for a while, haven't you?"

Éowyn chuckled and laid a hand on her swelling stomach, a habit she'd developed. "Yes. What was the memory this time, my love?"

Faramir smiled and told a half-truth. "One about you."

She frowned slightly. "The look on your face was strange for a happy memory. It seemed almost as if you had tasted something bitter or foul." She thought for a moment and laughed, and Faramir was certain she'd figured out what he'd been reminiscing about.

He turned the bacon and said, "Breakfast is done."

Éowyn groaned. "That is well. I feel as though the child eats more than half of what I eat." She did not seem to be truly upset, though, and set about getting flatware and silverware for their meal. They dined in the kitchen, at the servant's table, which was a ritual for them. The dining hall, they decided, was far too large for two people.

Faramir held her hand as they ate. As he did every morning, he asked, "How is the food?"

And, just as every morning, Éowyn replied, "Delicious."

When they had finished, Faramir washed and Éowyn dried and they both put the dishes away. Faramir set the leftovers (and there were plenty) aside for Ioreth when she awoke.

Such were the mornings in the House of the Captain and the White Lady.

Both Faramir and Éowyn had never before lived in so much peace or happiness. Faramir's childhood had been riddled with ridicule from his father, who hated the son who most reminded him of himself. Boromir had always been the favorite. "Faramir, look what Boromir's learned to do," or, "Faramir, why can't you be more like your brother?" were some of the constant jabs his father took at him. And it only got worse after Boromir died and Denethor sunk into madness.

Faramir was not ashamed of his father. Because Faramir's heart was pure and he was a wise man, he was able to forgive Denethor his faults and even grieved his death, if only because he'd never been able to win the love of the Steward.

Éowyn would not speak of her childhood. She would only give him a rough outline, and she never spoke of her father or her mother. She sobbed at the mention of the late Thèoden, and the only living relative she had now was her brother, King Éomer, and they hadn't spoken in some time. It seemed to Faramir that she was trying to remove all connection from Rohan.

He decided to talk to her about it later. For now, let he let her be happy.

_Another Note: Writing a sequel is hard, because it's difficult to decide how you want the characters to react to each other with the progression of time. How have they changed? Do they relate differently now? What new characters should be introduced? And, most importantly, what is the plot for the sequel? I'm doing the very best that I can, I know this chapter was a little suckly, but bear with me. It'll get better, I promise.  
_


	3. 3 The Miracle of Birth

_Disclaimer: I do not own Faramir or Éowyn or Ioreth, and I don't own the name Elanor but I do own the baby whose name is Elanor. Confusing, huh?_

**Chapter Three**

**The Miracle of Birth**

Time happily passed and Éowyn grew larger, to Faramir's delight. She had many strange cravings, though, and more than once asked for a dish that was very rare and hard to prepare. Faramir didn't mind, he was far more happy than he could ever remember, and he wondered about the gender of the baby. They decided that they would name a boy Boromir, after Faramir's late brother, and if it was a girl, they would name her Elanor, because the Elanor flower was the most beautiful and delicate in all of Middle-earth. He knew that whatever sex the baby was, he would love him or her with all of his heart. He wondered if the baby would have raven or golden hair, if it would have blue or grey eyes, if it would be tall and strong or slender and delicate, a warrior or a lore-master. He planned the life of the child before ever it left the womb, and eight months into Éowyn's pregnancy, he had two nurseries prepared, one if the baby proved to be male, and another for a female. The other would be left for future children.

And so, one uncommonly chilly day in November, Faramir and Éowyn were sitting together on a chaise lounge, huddling to stay warm. Both were wearing three layers of clothing. Éowyn was knitting, and Faramir was making sure she stayed warm and comfortable.

Faramir shivered. "It's never this cold here," he commented.

Éowyn smiled. "I don't mind. Rohan was a very cold place." This was the most she'd ever told him about Rohan at a time, and the only time she'd mentioned it without being prodded. Faramir was surprised.

Éowyn set her knitting aside and laid her head on her husband's chest. He wrapped his arms around her and they sat this way for some time.

Suddenly, Éowyn leapt up and ran to out of the room. Faramir, who'd been dozing off, ran after her. "Éowyn! What's the matter?"

Éowyn stood in a puddle of water. She grimaced. "Call the midwife."

Faramir ran off immediately in search of Ioreth. "Ioreth! Ioreth! Where are you?" He sighed. "Why did they have to make this place so big?" he muttered to himself.

Ioreth came around a corner, wiping her hands on a towel. Faramir almost ran straight into her. "Lord Faramir! Where and why are you running? Surely there is some reasoning behind this? Unless you've lost your mind like your poor father, but I'm sure you don't want to talk about that…"

"Good Ioreth," Faramir replied gently but firmly, "Surely I wouldn't have run the halls calling your name unless there was great reason. And no, I have not lost my mind. I tend to believe that was a once-in-a-family-tree experience."

Ioreth clapped her free hand to her mouth. "You don't mean…but it's only eight and a half months. How could it be so early?"

"Only the Valar know, but we'd best get back to her before the child is birthed without midwife or father present!" Faramir ran back to Éowyn's chamber and Ioreth followed, albeit slowly. Faramir often had to stop and wait for her to catch up.

"Why did they make this place so big?" Ioreth muttered.

Faramir smiled in spite of the circumstances. "Yes, I often ask that myself."

They arrived back to Éowyn in a matter of minutes, but to Faramir it felt like hours. Éowyn was sitting in a large chair, wearing a thinly woven dress that had been spun and tailored for this sort of occasion. Ioreth looked her over and smiled. "It's time, milady," she said.

It took grueling hours. Often, Faramir felt so stressed that he felt he couldn't take it anymore, then he remembered what Éowyn must be going through. He recalled again the night the young one had been conceived and felt a pang of remorse. If he'd known that his few moments of pleasure would cause his wife hours of pain then he never would have taken the chance. Sometimes he sat with her, and sometimes Ioreth told him to leave because he was causing a stressful environment. "She's still be here if you release her hand, Lord Faramir," she said playfully as she shooed him out. He flopped on a couch outside the room and thought some more about the difficulties that sensual pleasure caused. Poor Éowyn! The monthlies and now the childbearing were repercussions to womanhood that men just didn't have. He truly felt her pain for the first time and winced at the weight of it. How strong a woman must be!

It was with this thought that the baby was born. Through the wall, he heard the first wail as the baby sucked in its first breath. He rushed in. Ioreth smiled at him. "It's a little girl, milord."

Faramir's concern for the condition of his wife was overwhelmed by his joy that he had helped bring this beautiful girl to life. Éowyn grinned tiredly and held out her arms for her cleaned and wrapped baby. Faramir went to his wife's side and looked at his baby's little red face, her wisps of curly dark hair and her tiny clenched hands. "She's so small," he said incredulously.

Éowyn smiled. "She's beautiful."

Ioreth nodded. "That she is, and a proper woman she'll be. Would you like to nurse her?"

Éowyn nodded. "I'd like that." Ioreth helped her get situated and showed her the right way to hold a nursing baby. The little girl looked up at her mother and in her eyes was nothing but love.

"What to name her, milady?" Ioreth asked.

Éowyn looked at her husband and nodded. Faramir replied, "Elanor."

"Elanor Anarion. She's perfect." Ioreth bowed to her lord and lady and left.

Faramir smiled at his wife. "Yes, she is. Yes she is."

**End**

_End Note: I know that originally it was Sam and Rosie who had the blue-eyed blonde-haired Elanor but I love that name and thought that it fit here, too. I hope that my fellow Tolkien fanatics won't mind._

_There's a chance that I may write a series of F/E fics about them raising little Elanor, and if I decide to do that, then I hope everyone who read "The Captain & The White Lady" and everyone who just finished "To Have & To Hold" will tune in for updates on my profile, because I'll put it in there before I post the stories. It's nice to be prepared sometimes._


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